


Aberration

by thisworldisawhore



Series: Teratoma [5]
Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Metaphorical drugging, Mind Games, Minor Violence, Referenced Incest, Vampires, Weird Foreplay, david is very generous if you squint, emotional whiplash, some internalized homophobia if you squint, vampire!Alan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 15:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18413555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisworldisawhore/pseuds/thisworldisawhore
Summary: "I think you forget," David starts, and his hand slips up to pat Alan's jaw, more gentle than he deserves. "That you still have something left to lose."-Or, Was Frankenstein's monster given a curse or a gift?





	Aberration

**Author's Note:**

> Alan's descent into semi-madness is a really puzzling thing to write because in this series he starts sane and he ends (eventually) more-or-less sane. David plays a big role in that madness, but I hope no one has missed the "gifts" he gives as well. In my head anyway, the manipulation of it, the way David directs Alan's madness and channels it into the feasibility of this warped relationship with his brother, the sort of tricks he teaches about breaking someone down (albeit at David's gain as it ultimately gets the hunters out of the way), and of course the abusiveness of it, the taking aspect of it, the one-sidedness of the sexual side of it... It's a big part of the allure of this pairing to me. I hope that translates well for anyone reading it and wondering "what the hell kind of pairing is this?". 
> 
> This is unbeta'd. Also I can't write dialogue. Oh well.
> 
> Anyway it's been a rough year but I'm back on my bullshit and working on more Frogcest. Toodles.

"But family," David trails off again. He brings a hand to his mouth and splits the pad of his thumb from top to bottom with a tooth. Blood runs down his wrist, streaks up his arm.

He slowly crosses the distance between them, blood dripping from his now lowered hand. It drips to the ground—wasted—and hijacks all of Alan's senses. He can hear it, smell it, taste it through the air when he breathes. His gums ache. 

"The blood of a sire..." 

David raises his hand between them, a tease. The muted gleam of light reflecting from that slickness nearly has him dizzy. 

"The blood of a _brother_..." 

He doesn't miss how David's eyes go half-lidded when he drags the bleeding pad of his thumb across Alan's lower lip. 

"Is something different." 

He also doesn't miss how David's voice softens to almost breathy when he finishes his thought, but _oh_ , there's copper right under his nose, it's on his mouth, his tongue is straining for it inside the cage of his teeth, and oh, he's in over his head. 

Alan doesn't want to, doesn't want to give in to this because it's a cheap fucking trick, but his body apparently has other plans because his mouth slackens and David lets out the smallest of sighs when he pushes that slick, sticky digit inside. 

And it _is_ different, David is right. Alan has fed, lost count already of lives he's taken, but David's blood pulses hot and thick against the flat of tongue. The tension leaves his body and he's left boneless, half-drunk, and tingling. 

And he _tries_ , because there's nothing gratifying about giving David what he wants, but his body just _won't_ cooperate. He worries the gash, does filthy things to it that he's only half-conscious of. David presses against his tongue, moves his thumb back and forth—in and out—of Alan's drunken, sucking mouth until he whimpers and reaches for David's wrist, his hand, wanting _more_... 

David abruptly pulls away before Alan can make contact, making Alan nearly stumble after him. Alan's eyes are wide, dilated and wild, and David can see him tremble. 

"You're more than half-hard, Alan," David says and Alan realizes with shame that it's true. 

"Was it the blood?" David asks. Then slowly and clearly: "Or _having something in your mouth?"_

David laughs and anger courses through Alan, bright and hot. Before his brain has time to catch up, his fist slams into the side of David's face. 

David slams him back against the wall. Alan is momentarily distracted by the slow pulse of blood from the side of David's mouth, and he shouldn't have, because David's hand on his throat tilts his head back further, bangs it against the wood. He's lightheaded for a different reason, and David's eyes bore into him with that strange intensity that makes him feel laid bare, his secrets on display. 

"I think you forget," David starts, and his hand slips up to pat Alan's jaw, more gentle than he deserves. "That you still have something left to lose." 

And he's not stupid. Neither is David. Alan knows what he means. 

David steps back and turns away. There are still red prints on Alan's throat from his fingers. His head pounds. 

"The blood of a brother, or a sire, sometimes," David says, like nothing ever happened, and there's a pause before he continues. "It's a thirst you can't quench—a hunger you can't sate. It gets stronger, and it _pulls_..." 

His voice is softer, almost reverent when he adds, "You can go mad with it." 

Alan can't see his face, just knows he's staring into the distance, into an empty space in his own head, maybe even into someone else's. He rubs at his throat and thinks of Edgar. 

"Come on," David says, then in the blink of an eye they're sitting on the edge of the cliff above the hotel, the surf maybe a hundred feet below them, feet dangling. And after so long of this dance between them, after so long on this cliff, David's silence resonates with something in Alan. 

It's almost—for this moment—enough. David's mute companionship, the foot of space between them. Both of them watching the horizon, the miles of emptiness, nothing except for the sea, and Alan knows, no matter how much he doesn't want to identify with David, no matter how much he wants him to stay the enemy, that they both feel the same pull. They both know a thing or two about that emptiness. 

David drops his cigarette butt and the salt water fizzles it out somewhere below. Alan thinks of salt on Edgar's skin. His heart beats _brother brother brother_ and he feels just a little more hollow. And David thinks of a different salt, a different skin, but oh, it's all the same, isn't it? This fucked up need for family. The conviction that nothing is ever going to be quite _enough_ , not for the hunger this thirst brings. Not for the emptiness burning inside him. Not for the heat that builds in him. 

When David speaks again, he can hear the smirking merriment in his voice but the words are cold, clear, and slow. Cruel. Another dig meant to be heard. Alan's stomach drops with them and it echoes in his head above the ringing in his ears. 

"Have you ever been good and fucked, Alan?"

**Author's Note:**

> Still down to chat, y'all. You can find me on tumblr, same username.


End file.
